


Oaths and Curses

by janusjekyll



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Curse Breaking, Dragon Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Kind of enemies to lovers, M/M, Secret Identity, Unsympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Unsympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Wizard Logic | Logan Sanders, doesn't actually contain any curse words despite the title
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janusjekyll/pseuds/janusjekyll
Summary: Prince Virgil’s life is complicated enough. He already has to balance his royal duties, a long succession of prospective brides he has no interest in, and a monstrous secret that threatens the security of his entire kingdom. After inadvertently breaking a treaty, now he also needs to prevent a war. The only way to do that? Somehow convince the prince of his kingdom’s sworn enemy to marry him. Prince Roman, however, has found another way to avoid the conflict that he believes to be simpler: slaying the infamous Midnight Dragon. When he swears to kill the beast in front of a disguised Virgil, whom he believes to be a simple peasant, he unknowingly binds his promise to the Midnight Dragon himself. The two princes share one thing in common: their fates were set long ago by their parents. They’ve both found a way to seize their own destiny, but this may lead to unintended, deadly consequences. At the crossroads between love and hate, peace and war, life and death, the two princes’ choices will determine whether one’s oath or the other’s curse will break. However, first they must decide: what truly makes a monster?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 19
Kudos: 42





	1. A Tale of Two Princes

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Oaths and Curses! To date, this is the story I've spent the most time and effort on, and it has the longest word count so far despite not having that many chapters yet. If the chapters seem too long/tedious at any point let me know. I'm experimenting with how much detail is interesting vs. boring. This chapter is basically a prologue though, so it's shorter and written more in the style of a fairy tale or legend. Told by an omniscient narrator, but not an unbiased one.  
> TW: implied death? threats of violence? I don't know if those count. This chapter is pretty tame. Let me know if I should add something.

Once upon a time, in a kingdom that had long ago fallen from its former splendor, monsters roamed the land as they pleased, unhindered and unchecked. The royal family’s coffers had been left mostly empty after first a drought and then a plague had swept across the countryside, and so they could only watch, helpless against the tide of creatures that was pouring from the Northern Woods without the means to pay their dwindling army. The rampaging beasts’ constant raids on villages and destruction of homes and crops left the kingdom in increasingly dire straits. The surrounding realms soon closed their borders and ceased trade with what they were sure was a doomed society. 

In the midst of this, the king and queen were finally blessed with an heir.  
Throughout her pregnancy, the queen grew more and more fearful by the day, certain that the monsters would one day break into the castle and steal away with her child. Soon she had driven herself sick with worry, and began refusing food and drink.

Realizing he would soon lose both his wife and his unborn child before long, the king began a quest born of pure desperation to find the one creature powerful enough to aid his plight.   
His journey would take him to the lair of the Midnight Dragon, located far up the spire of Amethyst Mountain. The route was treacherous, and even the possibility of speaking to the dragon was uncertain. The king was just as likely to be eaten on the spot as he was to receive an opportunity to ask for the great beast’s help.

Despite all odds, the king made it to the mouth of the cave. Staggering inside, he called out to the dragon, requesting an audience with him. 

From out of the depths of the cavern, a great form arose, towering over the frightened king. The gleaming hide of the dragon filled the passage. At first, the dark scales appeared to be black, but upon reflecting the light of the king’s torch they revealed a sheen of the deepest purple. 

The giant head of the creature stretched out on its serpentine neck until it was a few feet away from the cowering human. “It seems a trespasser has broken into my home tonight. Tell me, small one, why I shouldn’t just kill you now for your insolence,” the dragon rumbled, with a voice low and deep but strangely melodic.

“Please,” the king begged. “You’re my last hope.” 

The dragon let out a thunderous laugh that shook the walls, causing the king to fear a cave-in was imminent. “You’re lucky that I just ate, small one. And that I’m in a particularly good mood today. Very well, then. What is so pressing that you would come to _me_ , of all beings?”

The king bowed his head. “I come to you on behalf of the kingdom of Ionotus to implore you to assist us. Our nation has become overrun with creatures of darkness, and it is driving the realm to ruin. If you do not help us, my people will cease to exist.”

The dragon yawned, loudly and slowly, revealing a long, forked tongue. “Is that all?”

The king hesitated. “My wife is expecting, and she fears that monsters will gain entry to the castle and put the child in peril. She has grown hysterical to the point of refusing anything to eat or drink until the kingdom is free.”

The dragon gave a huffing chuckle. “There it is. I know you monarchs. You’d watch the kingdom burn as long as there were no immediate consequences for yourselves. Your petty dilemma amuses me. However, I must ask, what’s in it for me? It’s not a deal if it only benefits one party, after all.” His words began to resemble a purr.

The king looked straight into the dark eyes of the dragon. “The choice pick from all the herds in the kingdom, brought as a tribute to you.”

The dragon laughed once more, causing the loose stones on the floor of the cave to rattle. “I could get that right now, if I wanted to. I could fly down at any time and decimate-" His speech gradually grew in volume until it was cut off by wracking coughs. A spurt of flame flew from the dragon’s mouth, then extinguished on the cave floor with nothing to ignite. 

“I know you could– but wouldn’t you rather have others do it for you? Spend your time doing… better things?” the king replied carefully.

“Very well,” the dragon assented. Thus, an uneasy alliance was formed, with both the dragon’s pride and the king’s head intact. 

The king left the mountain on the dragon’s back, his mount’s great, bat-like wings crossing terrain in minutes that had taken the king days. He held tightly for dear life as they rocketed through the air faster than a team of horses. 

They traversed the kingdom this way, swooping low over the towns and villages. Soon the word spread to even the most remote communities of the borderlands: Ionotus was under the protection of the Midnight Dragon: Master of the Mountain, Tyrant of Terror, and now, Destroyer of Darkness. 

Across the kingdom, the monsters began slinking back into the shadows from whence they came. 

The dragon made a perch on the highest tower of the castle, and there he remained for many months, a living symbol of the might of the kingdom. There was not a hint of trouble from the former menances while the dragon was at his post.

The queen’s fears were put to rest, and in time she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. On that same night, the dragon flew into their throne room and demanded his payment.

The king had known it was a debt that couldn’t be paid when he made his promise, but he had a plan. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“You have no need of my services any longer,” the dragon replied. 

“Your _services_? What have you done besides sit on our castle? Have you destroyed our enemies? No, you have simply frightened them off,” the king accused.

“That was not our agreement,” the dragon purred. “Your queen can no longer hold your child for ransom. Whether she lives or dies, you still will have an heir. I don’t need to babysit her paranoia anymore.”

“I’m afraid you were confused,” the king attempted.

“Me? I’m confused? I think _you_ are confused about who has the power here. I’ll have you remember that I haven’t eaten in several months, and I am VERY HUNGRY,” the dragon roared, flaring his wings to their full wingspan, grazing the walls on either side.

An army of guards poured out of the shadows to protect their king. The dragon’s gaze turned on them, calculating. The wings returned to his sides. “Very well. If you wish to play it this way, know one thing: I’ve had a failsafe put into place. Your wife’s greatest fear was having a monster in the castle. While your definition of ‘monster’ is very different from mine, I’ll play by your rules this time. Maybe when you’ve accepted the darkness within you, this kingdom might find the light again.” 

The dragon took off into the night, knocking over a few guards with his tail as he exited. A few tried to launch an attack, but the dragon was out of reach before they could react.

“What do you mean?” the king called out to the dragon’s scaled back.

From elsewhere in the castle, a baby started to cry. A woman’s scream ripped through the air.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” the king yelled, his voice going hoarse with the strain of maintaining the high volume, his face as purple as the dragon’s hide.

The dragon didn’t reply, now just a speck in the distance.

The king raced to the queen’s bedchamber, finding a scene of shock and horror. On his wife’s chest rested a screeching baby dragon, slick black scales flashing purple in the flickering lamplight. He drew his sword in one fluid motion and prepared to strike.

“Wait!” the queen called. She reached out with trembling fingers and stroked the top of the creature’s head. The noise stopped, and suddenly the dragon’s features began to melt, suffused in a dark cloud. Cradled in the queen’s arms was their baby.

“What devilry is this?” the king asked, his face dark with rage. The queen began to weep as the king connected what had happened with the dragon to what had just befallen them. 

The others in the room were sworn to secrecy, under the threat of death. All the wizards of the kingdom were summoned at once. In the next few weeks, all tried their hand at removing the dragon’s curse. As each failed, they were thrown into the castle’s dungeons, to remain for the rest of their days. Witnessing their failures, in a fit of anger the king banned the use of magic in the kingdom. All those with the mark of a wizard found on their hand would be imprisoned or executed.

With that lane closed to them, the royal family turned to the only other possible option: revenge.

While financial strain and the recent embargos had previously prevented the king from reaching out to Ionotus’s allies, the end of the monster raids had left the kingdom with the first successful harvest in years. 

The neighboring kingdom of Juno was known for its skill in dealing with monstrous invaders, but they were not known to be the most generous of people. The king would have to make another promise, although this time it would have to be one he could keep. The political fallout from breaking a deal with another nation within the intricate tangle of alliances in the region would be worse than any dragon’s curse. 

Ionotus offered Juno a preposition: in return for aid in slaying the Midnight Dragon, Ionotus would give Juno possession of the iron mines located near their shared border. Often contested throughout history, Juno had had its eyes on that valuable piece of territory for years. 

The mines had been almost the only source of income for Ionotus during the time of economic uncertainty, but the year’s good harvest boosted the king’s confidence in a future without them.

Juno accepted at once, without questioning the reason behind Ionotus’s determination to kill the dragon. In fact, the king of Juno agreed to slay the beast himself. He insisted that he needed no army or backup from Ionotus whatsoever. He had been known in his day as a master of slaying dragons; in the last few decades Juno had seen neither head nor scale of one within their borders. While the king of Juno was no longer in his prime, so too, he argued, was the dragon in question. He left his newborn twin sons with their mother and sailed to the capital of Ionotus as quickly as possible.

When he reached the castle, the king and queen of Ionotus had prepared a feast in his honor. He ate and drank with them, slept the night, and prepared to be off in the morning. Ionotus lent him their fastest steed, and with great fanfare and a parade they sent the king of Juno on his way.

Now the king of Ionotus was left to explain to his subjects why they were giving up an important piece of their territory in order to kill a creature the king had publicly defended and revered only weeks before. In a speech to the disgruntled peasants, the king laid out how all monsters were the same, and could never be trusted. He revealed, through vague terms, that the dragon had betrayed them and attempted to attack the royal baby. He assured the people that he had scared the dragon off, but Juno’s forces were following it to prevent it from ever returning to harm the people of Ionotus. 

Weeks went by, and the king of Juno had yet to return. As time passed, hope that he survived dwindled. Eventually, he was declared to be most certainly deceased by the queen of Juno, and her kingdom began its mourning period. After six months, she promptly demanded her payment.

This time, it was not a matter of empty promises. Ionotus had offered its reward for the completion of a task that had not occurred. They believed they owed Juno nothing, as the dragon still lived, as far as anyone knew.

Juno, however, believed that they had agreed to _attempt_ the task, and would be paid for assuming the risks associated with it, and because those risks had resulted in the death of their monarch, they especially felt they deserved retribution.

Much had been lost, and nothing had been won. Now all there was to do was decide which kingdom would take the fall. In the end, they both chose to lose by declaring war on each other.

Prince Virgil of Ionotus and Prince Roman of Juno both grew up in those tumultuous times. 

Virgil was taught to loathe and fear the monster inside of himself. He lived under the constant pressure of not revealing his secret. He managed to learn how to keep himself calm during the day as he grew older, but at night the stress and worries would catch up to him, and he wouldn’t be able to prevent himself from transforming into the creature that was despised throughout the kingdom.

Roman was taught to loathe, but never fear, the monster that killed his father. From a young age he was trained to be a dragon slayer, and soon he was said to have surpassed the skills of all who came before him. He had been chosen to avenge his father, and he carried that responsibility with pride.

After over a decade of devastating and indecisive war, the two kingdoms finally called a ceasefire. That, however, was only the beginning of their problems.


	2. Off to a Bad Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil meets with the latest princess his parents want him to marry. Things go awry yet again, and he finally figures out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 2/3 of my prewritten chapters, after that don't expect that frequent of updates. The next two chapters after that are half-written, so at least those might come sooner than the rest. You get a gold star if you know where the names of the nine princesses of Juno come from.
> 
> TW: implied possible homophobia at the very end, and I think that's it, let me know if there's something I missed.

Prince Virgil was left staring at the vacant doorway where his guest had stormed out in a huff only moments before. He turned to where his parents were sitting on their thrones. The king’s face was buried in his hands. The queen sighed, trying to stop the disappointment from showing on her face.

“What was it this time?” his mother asked gently.

Virgil shrugged.

***

Virgil had known it would be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day from the second he arrived at the breakfast table, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, still in the same clothes as the previous day, purple hair sticking up every which way, to see yet another prospective bride seated at the table, smiling brightly with anticipation. Maybe a few years ago when this whole charade had begun he would have made an attempt to at least smooth his bedhead, but by this point he knew it was a lost cause. 

The girl’s face fell as she took him in, but she recovered with poise. “Are you Prince Virgil?” she asked, with a practiced smile.

“That’s me,” he replied, his mouth turned up at the edge with a mildly amused smirk at her obvious discomfort. “And you are…?” he questioned in return, but spoke again without giving her a chance to answer. “Let me guess: something long and unpronounceable.” He gestured with his palms face up, raising his eyebrows.

The clink of silverware could be heard as his mother forcefully put down her fork to glare at her son, a warning in her gaze.

“I am Princess Polymnia of Juno, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Polymnia was wearing a tight bun on the top of her head. Her dress was light grey and modest, and around her neck was a pendant with a symbol Virgil recognized as belonging to the state religion of Juno. As she spoke, she stood and performed a graceful curtsy.

“The pleasure is mine,” Virgil responded, with as much sincerity as he could muster. He tried to hold up her hand to kiss it as he’d been taught, but she snatched it away upon contact. “O...kay then,” he remarked. “Wasn’t looking forward to that anyway." He stood there awkwardly for a moment before realizing she was waiting for him to sit. He sat down at his place, and so she returned to her chair.

He began picking at his food. He wasn’t very hungry, and the prospect of pretending he was remotely interested in the girl across from him was not putting him in the mood to eat.

The silence in the room stretched on to an uncomfortable length of time before the queen coughed. “So what are you interested in, Polymnia?” she brought up, after clearing her throat.

“Please, call me Polly,” the princess answered with a smile. “Well, I’m in training to be the Chief Priestess back in Juno, but I also have an interest in music.”

“Of course,” Virgil muttered.

Polymnia shot him a look.

“What was that?” The queen acted like she hadn’t heard him, but she raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“It does not surprise me that one from as musical of a family as yourself would also possess talents in that area,” Virgil corrected himself. “So, what instrument did you get stuck with?”

“What… do you mean?” Polymnia asked, drawing her brows together to pretend she was puzzled.

“I mean, you’re the…” Virgil paused to count. “Ninth daughter. Wow. You would think most of the instruments would be taken by now.”

“I play the lyre. I also dance-”

“Isn’t that what-”

Polymnia sighed. “While my sister participates in more… artistic forms of dance, I perform for the religious ceremonies of my kingdom.” 

_Cult dancing_ , Virgil thought, but managed to keep that comment to himself.

“But as I was about to say, my favorite thing to do is compose hymns.” She turned a level stare towards Virgil when mentioning his interruption, before meeting the politely interested eyes of the queen once more.

The king had stayed silent through all of this, focusing on his breakfast and the scroll delivered to him by an attendant outlining the report from yesterday on the kingdom’s happenings. He gave a grunt of approval at the mention of hymns, however. He had attended a festival in Juno many decades ago, and had been so impressed with the songs there that he had tried to instate Juno’s religion in Ionotus, to no avail.

Polymnia and the queen continued talking, but Virgil had zoned out. He began making a picture out of his eggs. After the initial outline was completed, he pulled over some fruit. Blackberries for the eyes, strawberries for the lips, blueberries for the nostrils… 

All in all, he thought it was a pretty good rendition of Polymnia. The princess, however, might not share his opinion.

Polymnia happened to glance his way and notice what he was doing. She stopped talking mid sentence. “What is that?” she asked abruptly.

“A goblin,” Virgil answered with a half smile.

“Really?” Polymnia raised a single eyebrow, looking eerily like Virgil’s mother. “Because to me it looks like-”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil interrupted sarcastically. “Not all of us come from a family of artists.” He held his hands up in a show of defense.

Polymnia sighed. “It’s a very nice… goblin,” she relented.

“If you’re not going to eat your breakfast, you might as well begin the tour,” the queen mentioned. She stood up from the table, and the king followed her lead. They passed Virgil on their way out the door. 

“This is your last chance,” the queen hissed under her breath. “This is the final daughter.”

Virgil pushed down any feeling of panic that might have risen in his chest by reminding himself that he didn’t care. Why was he being so difficult? Well, long ago he had realized that the best way to not worry about what others thought of you was by not caring about what others thought of you. And the best way to not care about what others thought of you was to know what others thought of you. And the best way to know what others thought of you was to guarantee that they absolutely hated you. And the best way to make sure that they hated you? He had been perfecting that one for years.

As the king and queen turned to leave, Polymnia called out, “Wait!”

They turned towards her. “What is it, dear?” the queen asked.

“I can’t be left alone in a room with a man,” she said quickly. “Religious reasons.”

The attendant cleared his throat from where he was still standing in the corner of the room.

“What about… two men?” the king asked.

“That’s fine,” Polymnia assented.

 _That makes no sense_ , Virgil wanted to point out. _She probably just doesn’t want to be alone with you_ , his mind continued. He shook his head to banish that thought. _I don’t want to be alone with her anyway_.

They were left staring at each other across the table.

“So… Polly…” Virgil began awkwardly.

“Polymnia,” she corrected.

“Hang on, but you said-”

“The queen may call me Polly. You may call me Polymnia,” she responded coldly.

“Fine. Polymnia. I was just going to say that I feel that we’ve gotten off to a bad start,” Virgil said, trying for a gracious tone.

Polymnia let out a rather unladylike snort. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed immediately, then she hesitated. “Actually, do you know what? I’m not sorry. Your behavior has been abominable, and you do not deserve an apology from me.” She crossed her arms and glared at him, daring him to reply.

Virgil sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Look,” he started, pointing outwards with his hands. “I know you don’t want another war just as much as I do. This is the final step of the peace treaty, to “strengthen the bond between our two kingdoms.” And since I already rejected all of your sisters-”

“Erato cried for weeks, by the way,” Polymnia brought up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sika did too, for a different reason.”

It took a moment of mental rearranging to figure out who the nickname referred to. “I didn’t even know she _could_ cry,” Virgil answered honestly.

“I believe Melpomene actually cried _less_ after seeing you. I think you broke her,” Polymnia mused.

“Okay. I’m just - I’m just saying that we’re kind of the last chance for our kingdoms.”

Polymnia sighed in frustration. “Why couldn’t you have had a sibling?”

“My birth was pretty traumatic,” Virgil explained.

“I bet,” Polymnia replied sarcastically.

“Fine. You know what? We don’t need to talk about this. I’ll just give you the tour so you can leave.”

Virgil stood up, pushed in his chair, then gestured to the attendant to come along with them.

Over the three years his parents had attempted to match him with the succession of Juno’s princesses, Virgil had gotten really good at giving a comprehensive tour of the castle, though ‘good’ might not be the best word to describe his methods. He had charted out a route that would take his guests up and down as many stairs as possible, leaving even the most athletic of the lot gasping for breath by the end. By this point, he could run the course without breaking a sweat.

The first set of stairs was the back entrance to the dining hall that Virgil took to get down to breakfast in the morning. While the enclosing pale stone walls were not the most scenic, the steps had the title of ‘steepest in the castle’ and so it was a must-see on Virgil’s itinerary. 

They passed the stairwell leading to Virgil’s room and continued climbing up to the top of the tower. Virgil waited for Polymnia to catch up before he began speaking. “From here you can see the entire castle, except for the southeast tower which is blocked by that giant tower in the middle. If you look behind you, you can see the gardens. Off the other side, you can see the moat, if you really want to. I wouldn’t suggest looking. Otherwise it’s just some stone and some pretty nice purplish roofs. Well, they used to be purple. They’re kind of grey now.”

“What _is_ your kingdom’s deal with purple? I mean, roofs are one thing, but hair…” Polymnia gestured at Virgil’s head.

“What if I said I was born like this?” Virgil asked.

Polymnia scoffed.

“In all seriousness, it _is_ the kingdom’s official color,” Virgil pointed out.

“Your official symbol is a dragon, and I don’t see you putting dragons everywhere,” Polymnia argued.

“I would say there’s a pretty good reason for that,” Virgil replied.

The mood turned somber for a second.

“I don’t even remember him,” Polymnia said suddenly. “I was only one year old at the time.”

“Who? Oh, right. Yeah. Um… I’m sorry?”

“It’s not _your_ fault,” she replied crossly.

In a way, it was, but Virgil wasn’t going to point that out. Juno had never really learned the real reason behind Ionotus’s decision to slay its national symbol.

They hung there in awkward silence for a few moments more, the glassless openings allowing the wind to whip through the space. Virgil's hands were cold from clutching the stone, but he was afraid to move and interrupt whatever Polymnia was doing with her eyes closed and hands outstretched to the sky. Was she praying? If he married her, would he be expected to join her religion? Would he have to remember all of the rites and words and hand gestures and…

He identified the growing anxiety within him immediately, and slapped his hands loudly against the windowsill to snap Polymnia out of whatever trance she was in so that they could move on. He didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts for another moment.

Virgil brought the princess down the stairs to the ground floor, through the hallway to the southwest corner of the castle, up the stairs to the top floor, down the hall to the northwest corner again, down the stairs to the middle floor, down the hall to the southwest tower, up the stairs to that tower to see the previously blocked southeast tower, all the while pointing out interesting paintings or sculptures along the hall, and peeking into various rooms with particularly nice interior design choices. He then repeated this route along the other three sides of the castle.

Polymnia was falling behind as they made their way along the north end of the castle, and Virgil wasn’t sure that she was able to hear his guided tour anyway. He waited for her to catch up to him. 

“Could we take a break?” she wheezed.

“We haven’t even gotten to the central tower yet,” Virgil pointed out with a half smile.

“Just… for a second…” she pleaded.

“We can sit in the gardens. They’re just down these stairs,” Virgil offered.

She put on a brave face at the prospect of more stairs, but at least it was down instead of up. They slowly made their way to the gate at the back of the castle wall that led to the garden. Polymnia let out a gasp when she entered it. The garden of the castle was its crown jewel. Even when the rest of the castle had fallen into disrepair twenty years ago, the flowers were tended and the hedges trimmed at all times. 

A walkway led to a bench underneath a trellis, overlooking the moat-fed stream that divided the garden. Virgil led the way to it, and they sat down.

“How… are you… not out of breath?” Polymnia questioned.

“Practice,” Virgil answered with a smirk.

“Was all of that really necessary?” 

“I am required by my parents to give all guests a complete tour of the castle,” Virgil evaded.

“But your route seemed… how should I say this…”

“Purposefully long and redundant?” Virgil asked. “You’re right.”

“Why?”

“To be a jerk.”

Polymnia crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you.”

Virgil sighed. “Fine. I seem like less of a failure if my guests stay with me longer before giving up and going home,” he snapped.

Nine princesses, and she was the only one to question him. He had to admit that he kind of admired that. Just a little. 

He needed to stop it, though. Admiration would lead to investment in outcomes, and things had never turned out well so far. Why would this time be any different?

However, he also knew that he _should_ have a vested interest in how things went with her. There was no guarantee that any breakaway from the terms of the negotiations wouldn’t just lead the two kingdoms straight back into war. War wasn’t fun for anyone, but he should especially be concerned. As the crown prince, he would probably be expected to fight, but the middle of a battle was definitely not a place he would be able to keep himself calm. Whether he revealed himself as a coward or a monster, it would be a political mess for Ionotus at a very inopportune time. 

Even if he had no feelings for this girl beyond begrudging respect, that would have to be enough. Monarchs rarely got to marry for love, and he knew he was acting spoiled already by rejecting the other princesses.

Would he truly be happy with Polymnia, or was he only deceiving himself to more easily make the decision that was best for the kingdom, instead of his own selfishness?

He needed to break the silence before he spiraled into the vortex of his own thoughts. Fortunately, Polymnia did that for him.

“You were honest with me,” she began. “So I’ll be honest with you.”

This was not the first princess to start spilling her secrets on that garden bench. Somehow, Virgil’s presence invited them to share their deepest fears. Perhaps it was because they knew he couldn’t be bothered to share anything they said with his parents or their advisors. Using another’s confidence politically was petty, but his silence was also just due to the fact that he didn’t care. It was a lot of work, anyway, to tell anything to the advisors. They often would have the tipper recount their entire conversation with the target to see if there were any helpful details left out of the initial report.

Polymnia took a deep breath. “I wish that I wanted this. I really do. I wish I was selfless enough to put everything I’ve ever worked for aside to pacify a decades-old disagreement. But I’ve been training my whole life to become the Chief Priestess, and honestly I want nothing more than that.” She was clutching her pendant tightly, knuckles white. She honestly looked on the verge of tears. 

She wouldn’t be the first one to cry here, either.

“It probably sounds stupid to you, being nonreligious and all, but I’ve always felt a connection to the gods, and just… felt more alive at the temple than any other place. When I’m dancing for the festivals, it feels like I’m a part of something greater than myself, and even though I’m the youngest daughter, I could still be important.” The tears started coming now, but she wiped them away, blinking fast.

Virgil never felt equipped to deal with crying people, so he just stared at her in silence.

“See, it’s stupid. I’m just being selfish,” she sniffed.

“It’s not stupid,” Virgil replied. He thought about putting a hand on hers, but then thought better of it, his hand hovering awkwardly for a moment before landing back by his side. “I’ve also… struggled with something similar. I kept waiting for some kind of magical romantic connection to just kick in with your sisters, but nothing ever happened. I guess I need to just come to terms with the fact that life isn’t like a fairy tale, and not all of us get happily ever afters.”

“I used to envy my sisters, you know,” she mentioned with a small smile. “I thought I would be an old maid before I ever got my chance to marry. Then, I decided that wouldn’t be so bad, and agreed to fully commit to the religious life. I thought that you couldn’t possibly go through _all_ of my sisters, and that I was safe in my choice.” She laughed a little, which sounded more like choking through her tears.

“I mean, it was kind of false hope that made me do that. I could ask to go back to one of them, if you’d like,” Virgil offered. “Then you can keep your dreams.”

“I wouldn’t do that to them,” Polymnia answered.

Virgil tried not to be offended, but he knew that he deserved it. In the silence, he suddenly remembered something. “I think we lost the attendant,” he pointed out.

“Oh, whatever. I’m already going to break so many of my vows…”

“Won’t the gods, like, smite you down for that?” Virgil asked, almost serious.

Polymnia glared at him for a second, then lightened up and laughed. “Probably.” She suddenly started crying even harder.

Virgil regretted all his life decisions.

“You know what? You have a good heart. You can be funny. You probably have other positive qualities too. If I’m committing, I’m committing all the way.” Polymnia seemed to be edging on hysteria.

Virgil had a sinking feeling in his gut. He was a little bit scared of her right now, and wasn’t sure he wanted to hear where she was going with this.

Polymnia took a deep breath, and appeared to immediately calm down. “If we get married, I would even give up my vow of chastity.”

Virgil felt sick, and he didn’t know why. “No thanks,” he said abruptly, then instantly mentally backpedaled. “I mean…”

“What, am I not good enough for you? All of us just aren’t good enough for you? Well, I don’t know what you’re expecting, mister, but perfect girls with invisible waists-”

“It’s not that! I promise!” Virgil didn’t know how to explain himself.

“Oh, and Ionotus is _so good_ at keeping promises.”

Virgil felt a flash of fear, before realizing she was referring to the iron mines incident that started the whole war they were trying to end in the first place.

“It’s just that I - maybe I just-” He thought back to his example about fairytales. When he imagined his happily-ever-after, he didn’t think of himself as the knight in shining armor, ready to rescue damsels-in-distress, but rather as the one trapped in the tower, waiting to be freed from the bondage of the monster sleeping below and carried away by a handsome - 

The realization hit him like a horse-drawn carriage. The truth he didn’t even want to admit to himself. The truth he still wouldn’t say out loud. The truth that he definitely should have figured out before now. 

“I’m willing to give up everything-” Polymnia tried to continue arguing.

“Fine,” he snapped, his voice strangely loud. “You’re right. I don’t want to marry you because I’m a shallow person who only cares about looks. You’re definitely not as pretty as your sisters. No wonder they saved you for last. I would rather go to war over a model than share peace with you.” Despite being sarcastic, he could see that the words cut deep. Polymnia was only too ready to believe them.

She looked like she was about to cry again, then changed her mind. Instead her face grew cold, her eyes flashing with icy anger. “I guess you were right all along. You _are_ a jerk.”

The words would have stung, but Virgil had already closed in on himself in preparation for any retorts. He was now fully apathetic towards the person he had confided in just a few minutes ago.

She turned and left the garden, directing the newly arrived, out of breath, and somewhat panicked attendant to lead her to the throne room. Virgil turned and watched her leave, then slipped behind her into the castle, choosing a route through the passageways he knew would let him arrive first.

What was the point? His parents would be just as disappointed, no matter who broke the news. 

He continued through the torchless hallways anyway. The lack of light didn’t bother him. He had always been able to see well in the dark.

The throne room was all the way at the front of the castle, though the word “room” was a bit of a stretch. It was actually located in an almost roofless pavilion, with a large overhang sheltering the thrones from the sun or the elements. While it was a contemporary, interesting, and cost-effective (less roofing to buy) concept when it had been built, that layout was also responsible for how the dragon was able to enter and escape the castle so easily on the day of Virgil’s birth, not to mention it would be a bit impractical if there ever was an invasion. No wonder the queen had been paranoid about monster-thieves.

Also, it could get pretty dark, and it was very cold in the winter. All in all, Virgil had no idea why they hadn’t remodeled it yet.

He was glad to have something to focus on besides his impending doom. He could internally vent about the throne room all day if need be.

His parents knew something was wrong the minute he entered the throne room.

“Where’s Princess Polymnia?” the queen asked, her gaze flickering behind him as if the person in question was about to appear from the darkened tunnel at any moment.

“She’s coming,” Virgil answered.

The queen relaxed, but then suspicion appeared in her features as she realized another possible meaning.

The front doors to the throne room slammed open as Polymnia marched in, face still blotchy from crying and out of breath from her quick journey across the castle.

“Your son is an insolent, petty child and I will not be marrying him,” she announced, then whirled on her heel and walked back out the way she came without giving the king or queen a chance to protest.

***

“It’s a long story,” Virgil answered.

“We’ve got time,” the queen replied coldly. “You’d better have a good explanation for your behavior, young man. I don’t know what kind of girl you could possibly have in mind, but Juno has sent you nine of the loveliest, smartest, kindest, most talented ladies I have ever met, and apparently not one of them meets your standards.”

Virgil waited for the queen to take a breath, then added his contribution. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might not like girls?” he said nonchalantly, making direct eye contact with his parents.

After a moment, understanding lit up their eyes.

The king sighed loudly, rubbing his face with his hands. “Great leaping liracorns!”

The queen put a hand on the king’s arm. “What your father means is,” she started pointedly, looking at the king sideways, then back at Virgil. “Couldn’t you have told us this a little sooner? For example, maybe, three years ago?”


	3. Mirror, Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Roman spars with his twin brother before meeting with the queen, where he comes to a fateful decision about his destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting this chapter, I was going to wait until I made progress on chapter four, but then I fell down a Buzzfeed Unsolved rabbit hole that stole all of my brain space and started writing fanfiction for that instead. After the new Asides video is posted I'll probably get motivated again. The space between asterisks is a flashback, not a time skip, in case it isn't clear. Yes, Roman and Remus might act childish, but not THAT childish.
> 
> TW// Violence, blood, Remus being Remus (no swears or sexual references, just body horror/gore), if I'm missing something let me know

Prince Roman watched his brother swing the mace disapprovingly. No matter how many times he advised Remus to choose a weapon requiring finesse more than brute strength, his brother would still pick up the biggest, heaviest, and most burdensome instruments of destruction during their training. It was one of the reasons that Roman always won their sparring matches. A good thing too, for Remus’s choices could be very damaging if he ever managed to lift them. Roman was unsure if the safety mechanisms put in place for the mock battles were even designed for those particular weapons.

The other reason for Roman’s consistent successes stemmed from the fact that he was strangely a lot taller and stronger than Remus, despite the fact that they were identical twins. He was told that he probably had used up resources intended for Remus before they were born. If you asked Remus, he would say that this trend had continued.

Yes, everyone always seemed to pay more attention to Roman, but that was because he was the chosen one, out of all of their siblings, to avenge their father’s death. The queen had looked at all the omens, prayed for a sign from all of the relevant gods, even used a wizard’s divination. All of them said that he was destined to claim his victory against the reptilian scourge that had stolen the life of the king. His mother even said that she had already witnessed his victory in a scrying pool.

So it was deserved. The reason no one paid attention to Remus, Roman told himself, was because Remus had never done anything that was worth paying attention _to_ , and probably never would. Sure, he had tried all kinds of crazy stunts over the years, from catching and killing mice with his bare hands (“you’re not a cat, Remus!”) to meticulously dissecting a frog then smashing the organs with a hammer onto a wooden board in their relative positions (“please let that be paint”). Most recently, he started attempting to grow a mustache. The only thing Roman liked about the squiggly scraps of hair clinging to his brother’s lip was how it further differentiated his twin from himself.

Remus was trying to swing the weapon straight over his head now. Roman abandoned the flour sack he was tapping with the flat of his sword to subtly move closer in case he needed to rescue Remus from dropping the mace onto himself. As he approached, he noticed something odd about the training dummy Remus was using. Instead of just sporting the plain grey cloth it was made from, it appeared to be wearing clothes. Not only that, Roman recognized the outfit. It was his, from a few years ago. He had long outgrown it, and he wondered where exactly Remus had discovered it. Perhaps he had stolen it out of a scrap bin.

Where Remus got it wasn’t what Roman really wanted to know. The real question was: why was Remus swinging a mace at the head of a mannequin dressed as him? The real answer was that he probably didn’t want to know. So he stopped thinking about it.

He went back to his own training after determining that Remus couldn’t lift his weapon more than a couple feet into the air behind him. It seemed that he didn’t need to worry about his brother swinging it at his actual head for a while longer.

He practiced the fencing positions he had been taught, lightly touching the hanging flour sack without actually cutting it. That would be bad for the blade, and would make a mess.

He didn’t know why his training was so focused on dueling techniques. Surely fighting dragons was more of a stab-when-you-can-then-run affair? He doubted they followed any rules of dueling etiquette. Maybe he would have to prove his worth to rival knights, or fend off roving hordes of bandits, though. You never knew what would happen on your knight’s quest.

Their instructor and supervisor, a short man with receding hair and a stern face, whistled through his fingers to draw their attention. “Get in the ring,” he barked. “Put on your protective gear. Don’t be sloppy. Wizards have better things to do than reattach your fingers.”

Roman remembered when he used to be scared of him, back when he first began his training. Now he knew that the stern instructions were to keep him safe. Weapons were not a thing to fool around with.

He put on the padded leather armor and hand guards, then slipped the cover over his sword that would dull the blade. Finally, he put on the stupid-looking leather helmet that he had long ago learned to appreciate, despite its effect on his hair afterwards. Remus was not against using cheap headshots in an attempt to gain a temporary advantage. 

Remus was wrapping cloth around the spiky end of his mace. Roman rolled his eyes. You would think that after failing to successfully use it in practice, he would change course and pick something he could actually wield. That sort of common sense was too much to expect out of Remus, apparently. 

The instructor whistled again, motioning for them to step into the ring. Remus began grinning widely in manic excitement, something he always did at the beginning of the mock brawls. That smile would remain whether he was winning or losing. Roman surmised that it was supposed to be off-putting, to get Roman to make mistakes. He was used to it by now.

When Remus had first started doing it, Roman had asked him about it. Remus didn’t reply, instead asking a question in return: had Roman ever thought about how much blood was in the human body? That humans were just sacks of blood, and if you made a big enough hole all of it would come pouring out at once? Roman had asked him to stop. That was a mistake. Asking Remus to quit doing or saying something just informed him that it was effective, so he would repeat the behavior as often as he could.

Remus dragged the mace into the circle of chalk on the floor, and Roman brought his blunted sword. They faced each other, staring, wondering which of them would make the first move.

Remus began trying to swing his weapon over his head again, leaving him entirely vulnerable to attack without a free hand to defend himself or anything in the way of a blow. Roman darted forward quickly, then rapped his brother on the torso with his blade triumphantly. Remus didn’t react, mostly because the sword could do little more than sting him that way with the protections in place.

“You would be dead if this was real,” Roman announced.

Remus giggled, stopping his attempt to move the mace for a moment. “It’s not, though. Try again.” He went back to struggling with his weapon.

Roman frowned, then rushed at Remus again, this time jabbing him in the stomach with the pommel of his sword.

Remus doubled over, the wind knocked out of him. As Roman stood waiting for him to recover, unwilling to let the fight end so soon, he didn’t see Remus start dragging the mace along the ground to try to hit Roman’s legs. Roman noticed Remus’s eyes flicker down at the last second and followed them, then sent his feet dancing to avoid Remus’s sneak attack. While Remus was off-balance, Roman took the opportunity to wrest the mace from his grasp, then spun it around and let go, sending it skidding out of the ring.

Roman advanced on Remus, edging him backwards with the threat of his sword until Remus stood nearly on the border of the circle. Remus looked back at the line, a crazed, cornered look in his eyes. He glanced side to side quickly, then reached forward and began pulling on Roman’s weapon with his bare hands. Roman held on tightly, but Remus persisted, yanking on it until finally the protective cover came off of the blade instead. This did not sway Remus. He continued to grasp the blade until blood was running down his hands. 

Unwilling to see his brother injure himself any longer, Roman dropped the sword. Left holding the full weight of it with only his fingers, Remus let it slip from his grasp as well. Roman kicked it out of the ring.

Now they were both weaponless.

Remus launched himself at Roman, bowling him over, and tried to scratch him through the thick leather armor. Roman kneed him in the chest, knocking him off of himself and sending him reeling backwards. Roman’s chestplate now had scattered bloodstains wherever Remus had touched him. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Remus attacked again, hitting and clawing Roman in whatever way he could. Roman tried to fend off the encroaching whirlwind of nails and fists with his own hands, then gave up and kicked Remus away again. This time he stood up, continuing to push Remus backwards with his foot until his brother was officially out of the ring.

Their fights had been getting harder these days, not because Remus was getting any better, but just because he seemed to be getting more and more ruthless. Roman couldn’t expect any of the common courtesies one could usually assume would be in place for a duel. He still had a mark on his leg from where Remus had bitten him once. The instructor wouldn’t interfere as long as they weren’t actually in danger of dying.

After the instructor whistled again, Remus stood up, clutching his side. Blood ran from his nose. Roman didn’t remember striking him in the face, but it was probably inevitable that it would happen during their tussle on the floor.

Remus was handed a towel. Roman was glad that he didn’t have to look at the blood anymore.

Roman took off his armor and put it back in its spot, then retrieved the mace and sword from where they were lying on the floor and put them away. He crossed the room to where Remus was still standing and began taking off his brother’s armor. Remus didn’t protest. After Roman had finished with him, he slunk away without a word.

Roman heard footsteps and turned to see that his oldest sister, Calliope, had entered the training room. She was grabbing her bow from the rack.

Roman and Calliope used to spar when they were younger, despite the fact that she was seven years older than him. Back then, she could beat him almost effortlessly, but she did not go easy on him whatsoever. She seemed to enjoy repeatedly humiliating him. She would taunt him that he wasn’t the one that should be chosen for the quest of revenge.

Then, one day, Roman had beaten her. It was almost by accident. He still remembered the look on her face, a mix of shock and betrayal.

They hadn’t had a rematch since, but Calliope had ceased questioning whether Roman was truly the right choice to fight the Midnight Dragon. Unsurprisingly, that had vastly improved their relationship.

Calliope retrieved her arrows, then started walking towards the shooting range, which was coincidentally near where Roman was standing. She waved as she drew closer.

“Where’s Remus?” she asked.

“He left already.”

Calliope shook her head with a sly grin. “I don’t know what happened. You two used to be joined at the hip.”

Roman shifted uncomfortably at her words. She wasn’t saying that as an expression of how they used to get along better, she was referencing the fact that they quite literally used to be connected at the hip. They hadn’t fully split apart from each other before they were born, and it was up to the medical professional present at the birth to determine that they could be safely separated. He still had the scar.

Calliope’s smile faltered, and she nudged him with her shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s not an original _or_ funny joke, I know. I should leave the comedy to Thalia.”

They walked together towards the shooting range. Roman watched in silence as she let loose a series of arrows, working her way to the center of the target.

“So, what’s your bet?” Calliope asked.

Roman just looked at her, confused.

“For how long Polly’s going to last,” she elaborated. “She should have made it to their castle by now.”

“Ah,” Roman replied. “The frown prince of the bor-ingdom of I-don’t-notice is ready to claim his next victim. Um, three hours.”

“That puts the average guess at around 45 minutes,” Calliope informed him.

“Ooh. You guys do not have much faith in her,” Roman responded.

“We’ve all met him,” Calliope pointed out.

Roman had not met the crown prince of Ionotus, but he had heard plenty.

“So, what happens then?” Roman asked. “Are we actually going to war with Ionotus over their prince’s brattiness?”

Calliope’s face was set in a grim line. “I don’t know, but Mother’s been preparing for it for awhile. It won’t end in a draw this time.”

“I don’t really see the point in endangering the lives of our people just to settle a score,” Roman declared.

“If Ionotus dishonors the treaty by disrespecting the majority of the royal family, we need to display our strength or our other allies will begin walking all over us,” Calliope explained. “Otherwise, fortifying diplomatic ties between the countries will increase our chances of getting access to those mines, so that is the most preferable route. The only reason we are no longer at war is because of the possibility of gaining control of both kingdoms peacefully.”

“But declaring war on them will put us back where we started. Why can’t we just renegotiate the peace treaty to get the mines in exchange for something else?” Roman argued.

“We’ll try, but there’s no guarantees. The first one took years to work out.”

“If I could just go slay the dragon, then they could pay us and we’d be even,” Roman said, frustrated. “All this could be avoided.”

“You’re not ready yet,” Calliope replied matter-of-factly. “If you got yourself killed, we’d most definitely have a war, _and_ you wouldn’t be here to help fight it.”

“You’re right,” he muttered, but privately he was set in his course. If Polymnia returned without setting an engagement with the prince, he would secretly go to Ionotus himself, kill the dragon, and have his deeds proclaimed throughout all the lands once he returned as a hero. Then, Ionotus would have to give them the mines and no one would need to marry anyone.

Calliope returned her focus to her training, clearly tired of trying to explain the nuances of politics to her brother. Roman took that as an opportunity to slip away and begin his planning.

First, he would make sure his ends couldn’t be met through non-rule-breaking means. He requested an audience with his mother.

He spent a half hour pacing outside her meeting chambers before the attendant guarding the door waved him in. 

Roman heard voices as he started to open the door. 

“What about our allies? Where do they stand?” Roman recognized the voice as one of the generals.

“They will only get involved, on _either_ side, if the terms of the treaty are broken. Remember, many of them have ties to Ionotus as well,” the queen’s voice answered.

Roman entered the room, and it went quiet.

“What is it?” the queen asked. She was seated at the head of the large wooden table, which was currently covered in maps and string, with small carved and painted pieces meticulously set up to symbolize infantry and cavalry, mechanisms and men, _human lives_ that could be lost if he didn’t succeed in his quest.

The queen’s advisors and generals were seated around the table. The queen looked up from where she was scrutinizing a portion of the map, brushing her silvered hair away from her face. 

Roman hesitated, suddenly nervous. 

“What is it?” she repeated. “I’m very busy.”

She was always busy. The stress of running a kingdom by herself left her little time to deal with her eleven children. Roman hadn’t seen much of her over the years, but when he did it was never for idle chatter. Usually for him, it involved his mother silently observing his training, only speaking to him if there was something he needed to improve. 

Despite the sternness of the woman and the scarcity of their time together, most of his memories of her were fond ones. One of the earliest things he could remember was his mother telling him his purpose for the first time, when he was around three years old. He was too young to understand what exactly she meant, but it had filled him with the same sense of determination and pride he still carried with him. 

***

Roman was lying in bed, waiting to be tucked in. Across the room, he could hear that Remus was jumping on his own bed, ignoring the repeated warnings he had received that that would break his bed frame. It was noisy, but Roman was used to it. The rhythm was strangely soothing, and he found himself drifting off. He snapped his eyes open, refusing to sleep until he was tucked in. 

The nurse should arrive any second. 

The door creaked open and Roman sat up, but instead of his nurse, silhouetted in the doorway was a regal woman he had seen only briefly before now. Sometimes she was called “mother,” sometimes she was called “queen,” and other times she was called by many other names.

“Where’s Nurse?” Roman questioned her.

“I’m going to be tucking you in tonight,” she answered gently, with a soft smile.

“Why?” Roman demanded stubbornly.

Her smile faltered, then reappeared. “Because I’m your mother. Surely a mother has the right to tuck in her child?”

She arranged the covers around Roman, then began stroking his hair.

_It’s not the same way that Nurse does it_ , he thought defiantly. 

“Do I get a bedtime story?” he asked. 

The queen’s smile grew wider. “Of course, my special one.”

Roman closed his eyes and snuggled into his blankets in preparation. 

“Once upon a time, there was a mighty king. He was pure of heart and strong of spirit, and also very handsome. One day, in order to win a great treasure for his kingdom, he went to fight a big, bad, dragon. They fought long and hard, and the king was very brave, but he was no match for the dragon’s sharp claws and fiery breath.”

Roman whimpered. “I don’t like this story.”

“What would make it better?” The queen stopped stroking his hair and looked him right in his now-open eyes.

“If the king killed the dragon,” Roman declared. 

“The king can’t kill the dragon, the king is dead,” the queen stated coldly. 

“Well then… someone could! I don’t like the dragon. The dragon’s evil,” he whined.

The queen continued her story. “Luckily, the king had a son who was even braver and stronger. He traveled to the dragon’s lair and killed the dragon in the name of his father. After he returned, he was declared a hero. Stories of his bravery were told all throughout the land.”

Content that justice had been dealt, Roman closed his eyes. 

“What if I told you that that was a true story?”

Roman’s eyes went wide.

“That king was your father. That son is you,” she said softly, touching her finger to his nose “Boop.”

“I haven’t killed a dragon,” Roman corrected her, in a tone that expressed that he thought she was silly. 

“Yet.” The queen smiled. “But it’s your destiny.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s for sure going to happen,” she explained. 

“I wish I was a dragon,” Remus mumbled sleepily. “Then I would be way taller than Roman and also fly.”

“If you were a dragon, Roman would have to kill you,” the queen replied. 

“He couldn’t kill me. I would just eat him,” Remus argued. “If he tried to attack me, I would eat his arms. If he tried to run, I would eat his legs.”

Roman put his hands over his ears. “Make him stop!”

“Arms and legs, arms and legs,” Remus chanted gleefully. 

“Remus!” the queen scolded. “Don’t say things like that!”

Remus fell silent.

“Good night, you two,” the queen called, making her way to the open doorframe. 

“You didn’t tuck _me_ in,” Remus complained. 

“Maybe if you hadn’t said such mean things to your brother,” she answered over her shoulder. 

As soon as she turned away again, Roman stuck his tongue out at Remus.

“Roman-” Remus started to tattle, but the queen cut him off. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” Her footsteps echoed down the hallway until they faded away with distance. 

After a few minutes of silence, Roman looked across the room to see if Remus was still awake. 

“You _would not_ eat me,” he taunted. 

“Would too,” Remus shot back. 

“Nuh-uh. She said it was my _density_ to kill dragons.”

“Fine then. I’m going to be a sea monster,” Remus decided. 

“That’s not what you said. You said you’re gonna be a dragon,” Roman accused him. 

“Well now I’m a sea monster, and I’ll use my tentacles to pull your eyeballs off.”

Roman screamed, and continued to scream until their nurse came in, upset about being woken up on what was supposed to be her night off, to inquire about the source of the racket. 

***

Roman stepped farther into the room hesitantly. The queen sat attentively, waiting for his response. 

“I know how we can avoid war,” he began. 

“I’m sure these lovely people would love to hear your ideas,” the queen remarked, gesturing around the table with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Roman cleared his throat. “If I journey at once to slay the Midnight Dragon-”

The queen sighed and waved a hand, dismissing her company. Once they were alone, she gestured for him to take a seat.

“What makes you think you are ready for this?” she asked him, hand on her chin.

“I’ve been training my whole life! My skills have surpassed my father’s - everyone says so,” Roman argued.

“But have they surpassed your mother’s?” the queen challenged. 

Roman faltered. “You were a dragon slayer?” he responded reverently.

“The best in Juno and all the nearby kingdoms,” she answered proudly. “I would’ve taken on the Midnight Dragon myself, if I hadn’t recently given birth to you two twins. Then there was the war, and before I knew it, I was old.” Her eyes glazed over wistfully. 

“I don’t want that to happen to me,” Roman said firmly. “How am I supposed to fulfill my purpose if there’s another decade-long war?”

“Easy,” the queen replied, picking up a red piece of wood from its position on the table. “You help us win it.” She slammed the trinket down in the middle of the map. “It doesn’t need to last long at all.”

“But-”

“Look here,” his mother interrupted, pointing at a section of the map. “If we conquer the mines, we’ll have access to Amethyst Mountain from our own territory. We wouldn’t need to bother with traveling through Ionotus at all.”

“But what if we… _don’t_ win,” Roman blurted.

“Then our kingdom will have more important things to worry about,” the queen responded coldly. 

Roman couldn’t think of anything that could be more important than avenging his father and embracing his destiny. 

“Is that all you came to waste my time with?” the queen snapped.

Roman sighed. “I suppose.” He turned to leave.

“Hey.”

Roman faced his mother once more. She stood up and moved towards him, embracing him stiffly. 

“You _will_ get your opportunity. You _will_ complete your quest. You will fulfill your purpose. You just need to have patience.” She held him at arm's length, then pulled him back into the hug. “Promise me?”

“Promise what?” His words were muffled by the poofy sleeves of his mother’s gown.

“Promise you’ll be patient,” she clarified firmly.

Roman’s heart ached. “I will,” he said, but he was not saying that in response to his mother’s statement. His real promise, only said internally, was, _I_ will _make you proud. I_ will _make it worth the heartbreak and fear and worry. I_ will _make it worth the betrayal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone know how to make the horizontal lines to split up different scenes? Then I could stop using asterisks. Sorry, I'm a new Archive user.


	4. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil finds out about a possible loophole in the treaty's terms, and has a brief confrontation with his father. Once in his room, the stress of the day causes him to transform.
> 
> TW// mild homophobia/heteronormativity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this chapter over a year ago. In fact, the way things worked out, all of what I included in this chapter was already written a year ago. I decided to split this chapter up because it was getting obnoxiously long and I have a lot of exposition I want to work into what is now the next chapter. Would you forgive me if there are two chapters from Virgil's perspective before we return to Roman? 
> 
> Sorry for not updating for two months, I've literally been so concerned over the length of the chapters and how much of the plot to include in this one that it gave me writer's block on this story.

Virgil paced back and forth across his room, weaving in and out of the iron bars that sectioned off the portion of it containing his bed. Once his parents had discovered that he seemed to struggle with his curse more at night, they had put certain precautions in place. Virgil had tried to explain that the curse didn’t affect his mind, and he wasn’t going to go on bloodthirsty murderous rampages or anything, but they put up the barrier anyway. The poles were spaced far enough apart so that except during a very specific situation, getting in and out wasn’t a problem. No, the sense of entrapment he felt whenever he looked at them was purely representative of what they symbolized.

Virgil was waiting for his parents to pore over a copy of the peace treaty with a team of legal experts, looking to see if the exact language of the text might salvage the situation. If not… 

He didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he focused on his hands slapping the cool, smooth metal in a rhythmic pattern as he swung his way between the bars of his cage.

A knock came at the door, and Virgil rushed across the room to answer it. He opened the door a crack, just enough to see who was speaking.

An attendant stood in the hall, wearing a tense smile. “They’re ready for you.”

Virgil made an attempt to smile back, then followed the attendant out of the room and down the spiral stairs of the tower. 

They walked without a word towards the door that led into the large central tower. When they reached the right room, the attendant held open the door with a bow, and Virgil shuffled past into the gathering of people. Immediately he was overwhelmed by the volume of their chatter, but as soon as the attendees noticed him, their conversations dropped off one by one. The silence that followed was worse than the noise.

The queen came forward. “Welcome,” she said, then took Virgil by the shoulders and led him to the circular table the others were gathered around.

A bald man in a stiff suit began rapid-firing legal jargon at him before Virgil even laid eyes on the document that was spread across the table top.

Virgil paused in his stride to allow the man to finish, pretending to be listening even though he honestly didn’t even catch half of it. The man seemed excited, though. He stopped talking and looked at Virgil expectantly.

“That’s… good?” he guessed.

His mother translated for him. “The phrasing of the agreement is non-gender-specific. It only mentions ‘joining the houses of Ionotus and Juno in sacred matrimony.’” She finished with a triumphant tone in her voice, but there was still a hint of _you better thank your lucky stars for legal language loopholes._ Virgil’s stars had never been lucky, and he didn’t know why they would start being so now. It was probably just a brief respite disguising an even bigger ordeal, so he would save his gratitude for when this entire thing was over and done with.

“So, now what?” Virgil asked.

“Well, I suppose we must compose a letter to the queen of Juno to inquire if she happens to have any sons,” the queen replied.

The relief Virgil felt that he hadn’t royally screwed over the entire kingdom with his lack of social finesse gave way to disappointment that they were still focused on the whole marriage thing. Maybe it wasn’t the gender of the suitor, after all, but the forced nature of the arrangement. There was also the issue that by telling his parents he was attracted to guys, they might expect him to fall in love with the first male he saw. What if he was making a big fuss about true love only to end up stuck with someone he couldn’t stand anyways? Plus, even if Juno had a prince or two, what were the chances that they would be like him? Was it fair to intrude upon their lives this way and take away a freedom they expected to have?

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe he was just a self-absorbed spoiled brat. What did he ever do that would make him entitled to a happily-ever-after?

Everyone in the room was looking at him, like they were waiting for a response. He racked his brain for the last thing someone said. It wasn’t a question, he knew that much. Maybe just a statement that required affirmation?

The man that tried to talk to Virgil earlier cleared his throat. “Do we have your permission to proceed with this course of action?”

Virgil didn’t know why they needed his approval. It wasn’t like he could actually refuse. He dipped his head in acknowledgement towards the man. “Of course.”

Immediately the room filled with the buzz of discussion once more as the occupants began debating the best way to complete their task. Sensing Virgil’s discomfort, the queen motioned that he was allowed to leave.

The king watched him go. He had remained silent this entire time. He still hadn’t spoken directly to Virgil since his revelations in the throne room.

Virgil’s chest felt tight for a moment, but he pushed the feeling away. He had done what he had to. It wasn’t his own fault.

When he joined his parents for lunch later, the atmosphere was tense, the silence gathering tangibly like storm clouds. 

The king cleared his throat, the sound cutting across the room like a low rumble of ominous thunder.

“So, when you say you don’t “like girls,” what do you… mean by that?” It seemed as though his father was speaking to his own plate rather than Virgil, for that was the only thing he was making eye contact with.

Shoot. What was he supposed to say? He had barely figured things out for himself, let alone formed a cohesive way to explain it to anyone else.

“Dear, it’s not like this is unheard of. Your cousin-” the queen started. 

The king silenced her with a look.

“Perhaps you just haven’t met the right girl,” the king continued, in a gentler tone.

Virgil stood up, unwilling to let the situation continue any further.

“Where are you going? This conversation is not over,” the king challenged Virgil.

Virgil remained standing, staring his father directly in the eyes.

The king sighed, breaking eye contact. No one could look into Virgil’s eyes for long. There was a sense of something unflinchingly wild, something endless, something just barely dormant, staring back from the darkest part of the abyss. “I just want to know that you’re certain.”

“I am.” Well, if he wasn’t sure before, he’d better be now.

With that, Virgil turned on his heel, leaving his half-eaten meal behind.

He spent the remainder of the day restlessly wandering from activity to activity. He attempted to read an assortment of books, giving up on each after realizing he was reading the same passage over and over. He even tried cleaning his room, which he had been putting off for too long. For a variety of reasons, servants weren’t allowed in his quarters, which meant that he was left to his own devices in terms of keeping his space organized. Half of the time, it looked like a tornado had swept through it.

This autonomy also meant that he had the freedom to interior decorate however he chose. No one except him had to ever lay eyes on it. If he wanted to cover the room in spider curtains and creepy tapestries, no one would ask where he had even gotten those things in the first place, let alone question his taste.

However, that meant that there was never any real reason to keep it clean, and without accountability, Virgil found it hard to motivate himself. 

Right now, he found that motivation in a panic-fueled drive to distract himself. He had been teetering on the edge of a breakdown all day, even more than usual, and he just needed to hold on a couple hours longer.

He paused from gathering up some of the dirty clothes blanketing his floor to stare out the west window, where the sun was just appearing in the topmost edge on its slow slide down the sky. Virgil wished it would just slip and plunge under the horizon all at once, jettisoning the moon into the sky, so that this day could be over.

After putting the bundle of clothes in the basket where they were supposed to go, he moved on to the bookshelves. There were several in his room, some of them with nearly empty shelves because most of their contents had found a new home on the floor.

Virgil had ruined quite a few books this way over the years, but the worry he felt at the possibility, and the resulting guilt when it inevitably occurred, had never translated into a change in habit. 

Among the titles he put back in place were the ones he had abandoned his attempts at reading earlier. Others had been buried for quite some time, possibly months.

After a while, he stepped back to realize he could actually see the floor of his room. He had almost forgotten about the purple rug hidden under all the junk. He sat down and began to trace its familiar patterns with his fingers. Organizing his room had served as an effective distraction, but now that that was finished, he felt the ever-present sense of doom settling in once again. He let himself be hypnotized by the infinite looping spirals of the carpet pattern, watching the last rays of sunlight travel across the floor and up the wall with the passage of time.

When those disappeared, along with his color vision, he knew that it was night.

He opened his wardrobe, digging through its contents and pulling out an outfit hidden in the back of the rack.

It was a set of plain black clothes, out of place among the garishly embroidered and brocaded royal suits the rest of his closet consisted of. The cloth was cheap and well-worn, patched in places and stitched in others. Despite its haggard appearance, it was the only outfit Virgil had ever felt comfortable in.

He fastened the dark cloak around his shoulders and put the hood up, shrouding his face in shadow. The bottom edge fluttered around his bare ankles in torn strips of fabric as he pulled on a pair of tall boots. Now he could abandon any facade of put-togetherness. He fell to his knees on the rug.

Like uncorking a bottle, Virgil released all the repressed stress from the day, breathing quickly in sharp sobs. He buried his face in the carpet, closing his eyes. He didn’t need to see to know what was happening. 

His skin tingled like he was being blasted with a stream of bubbles, and he became light-headed for a moment, losing any feeling of contact with the floor beneath him.

When he returned to awareness of his place in space-time, in his place laid a dragon; smooth, glittering black scales, a crown of sharp horns, jagged spines tapering into a serpentine tail, giant, bat-like wings folded tight.

Virgil rose unsteadily on four feet, a bit dizzy. He kept his neck folded to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. He realized he was facing the wrong way and huffed in frustration, scattering the papers on his desk.

Carefully he attempted to turn around, twisting over his own back and taking advantage of his increased flexibility. At one point he almost lost his balance, and instinctively swung out his tail. This overturned one of his newly organized bookshelves, dumping it on the floor with a loud crash. He hoped that no one would come to investigate. 

It was a tight squeeze, but he was finally facing away from the window. Now it was time to escape his cage.

He backed out of the opening slowly, digging into the blocks of the tower with his hind claws and slowly lowering himself off of the window ledge. His movements were quick and automatic. He had done this many times before.

When he had first reached the age where he began to entertain the notion that doing exactly what his parents told him wasn’t necessarily always the best option, he had realized that there was nothing stopping him from being outside of the barred portion of his room when he transformed. Being trapped in a small, windowless compartment surrounded by thick stone never helped him calm down anyway.

Eventually, he realized that access to windows meant that he could go outside. He was always careful to stay out of sight, the constant worry of being spotted maintaining his form until he could get back to his room.

Virgil scaled the wall, maneuvering cautiously around windows, then dropped the final twelve feet to the ground. There, he snuck across the courtyard to the garden gate, opened it a crack and slipped inside.

He wove through the shadows until he reached the stream. He traced its path downriver until he stood at the base of the castle wall. Located in the very corner was a large circular grate that the water flowed into. Iron bars used to form a grid over the opening, but decades of constant water flow and no maintenance had rusted them away, leaving only jagged stubs along the edges. The same was true on the other end of the tunnel. 

Finding this passageway was the most important discovery of Virgil’s life. He had stumbled across it over ten years ago, and by this point, he couldn’t imagine life without it. He was pretty sure that these nightly escapades were the only thing keeping him sane. 

He splashed through the shallow stream, and emerged on the other side of the tunnel. He breathed deeply in the night air, calming down a little, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He wasn’t even _in_ the woods yet.

The little garden stream, which was fed by the castle moat, would continue on in a meandering path until it met up with the major waterway that crisscrossed the kingdom. All along the way, the banks were covered in a thick forest that would eventually join with the infamous North Woods that formed the upper border of Ionotus.

Before Virgil was born, this area had been clear cut in an attempt to prevent monsters from hiding in the copse of trees closest to the castle. In the almost twenty years since, it had regrown nicely, providing excellent cover for the monster that had already breached its walls.

Virgil flew low over the water. His wingspan nearly reached the trees on either side. As soon as he looked behind him and could no longer see the castle, he began flapping hard, rocketing straight up into the air until the stream was a silver ribbon wrapped around the miniature landscape. Once his destination was in sight, he swerved, making an expert landing in a small clearing. He breathed deeply, once in and once out, and felt himself relax. As he returned to his human form he felt the familiar falling sensation, a brief respite from gravity that temporarily freed the weight of the world from his shoulders.


End file.
